Princess for Hire (14 page)

“Totally.” I beamed. Maybe subbing had done more for me than I’d realized. One little shoulder poke and I was back in. And maybe Celeste would finally get over it and move on!

“That would rock!” Celeste stepped forward, suddenly animated.

Annie’s and Nikki’s eyes lit up, relieved by her approval.

“Let’s do a slumber party and tell more stories from the good old days.” Celeste lowered her voice. “Here’s one.”

We leaned in. She always did know how to tell a story.

“Remember when Desi’s perfect mom and happy little family weren’t enough for her do-gooder dad? So he had to find more ways to show his awesomeness by sending my dad to prison and ruining my life? And Desi did-n’t even try to stop it, not once, just let it happen?” Her small body shook. “Anyone else remember
that
?”

Celeste let out a sob and ran out of the tent. I turned to Annie and Nikki, silently begging them,
pleading
for them not to rush after her, to consider my side of the mess, what my social life had been like over the last two years.

Annie looked up. Nikki looked down. The HMs shuffled out of the tent in one uniform, camisoled line. And I was left alone.

Again.

I drifted out of the food tent, only managing to take a few directionless steps before Drake ran up to me. “Dude, there you are! Come on. I need your help at our booth.”

I followed him, Idaho-dazed, not sure or caring where he was leading me. Laughter burst from every booth we passed, every corner. Two little girls huddled under a picnic table, sharing cotton candy.

Acceptance. It was so close, sweeter than any blue-ribbon pie. Celeste had snatched it away again. Why couldn’t I change their minds? What did it take? I felt so completely powerless, like I was melting right into the dirt floor.

Drake stopped.

I stopped.

He pointed. “Do you want a suit or anything?”

I squinted in the sunlight. We were at the end of the carnival booths, next to the milk toss. A yellow rusted dunk tank filled with swirling water bore a poster board with the Pets Charming logo and the invitation: “Watch us swim with the fish! Three tickets.” A blue tarp formed a wall that stretched down over the grass. The softball-size target jutted out about chest level from the tarp.

A line of tormenters had already formed.

“I’m supposed to get in there?” I asked, panicked. Leave it to Pets Charming to up the humiliation ante.

“Yeah well, you said you’d work at our booth. And…uh, this is our booth.”

I didn’t move.

Drake fidgeted. “We’re out of volunteers. I’d get in myself but I have to take tickets and, well, I, uh… have a rash. Look, do this for me and I’ll make the groundhog costume up to you. I promise.”

The sunlight glinted off the water, hypnotizing me. “Yeah. You better.”

I climbed the four slick steps like a princess ascending her tower, and perched myself on the wet seat, hairs prickling out of the goose bumps covering my legs. My body kept functioning, my heart kept beating, my lungs kept breathing, but I wasn’t there anymore. I was in the big Idaho sky, watching the poor girl who flinched every time someone threw a softball and missed the target.

Fortunately, no one athletically inclined seemed interested in the dunking game. Ball after ball whizzed past, and not one hit the target. My shoulders relaxed. I still might come out of this with a shred of dignity.

“Okay, Desi.” Drake tapped the tank. “Just a few more and you’re free.”

Free. I sent up a quick prayer of thanks to God or the tree spirits or the MP goddess. Whoever or whatever it was that had kept me mostly dry.

And then I saw Hayden through the hazy fiberglass, stretching his biceps. The HMs and Celeste were ominously gathered around him.

Ta-ta, dignity.

Hayden waved at me. “Ready for a dip?” he called.

“Not really!” Surely he would hear the desperation in my voice and drop the ball. Or even better, climb into the tank with me, wrap his fingers into mine, and say, “I’m back, Desi. Your Boggle Boy is back.”

He spit into his hands, rubbed them together, then fingered the ball. “Prepare to meet your doom!”

For someone as cool as Hayden, “Prepare to meet your doom” was a lame line. It sounded like something roly-poly Romeo from the Mutant Insect Battalion would say, not something coming out of the mouth of a worthy crush. And shouldn’t someone worth crushing on detect my fear? Wouldn’t he want to keep me dry and cute, not banish me to the aquatic abyss?

I wiggled my toes, suddenly aware of where they were. I’d soon be soaked, my hair would frizz, and I don’t think Mom had used waterproof mascara. Even worse, Celeste was there, savoring my humiliation. Hayden wound up his arm and released the softball. It catapulted in slow motion until it nicked the side of the target. I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for the splash.

It didn’t come. I pried one eye open.

Hayden rubbed his chiseled jaw. “Is your tank broken?” he asked Drake.

Someone giggled.

Before Drake could answer, Celeste broke free and tapped her fingernails on the front of the fiberglass, a sound that made chalkboard scratching seem melodic. “I can fix it,” she said.

My voice caught in my throat. It was like when I’d first seen Lord of Pray: I couldn’t get a sound out. Couldn’t scream at her to stop.

She placed one hand on the red target and used the other to blow me a kiss. The look on her face was cruel, of course, but also kind of weird. Like…jealous. I was the one in the dunk tank, and she had my crush. And my friends. What did she have to be jealous about?

The seat collapsed and I plunged into the silver water.

I’ve heard it said that when you drown, there is a moment of clarity right before you black out. There’s peace and tranquility in letting go of the fight, letting the element overtake you. And even though I was only drowning in humiliation, things were still pretty clear.

Something small had solidified within me, and it went beyond tiaras and princess puff. My impact muscle had grown both times I’d landed in those different cultures, plunged into those girls’ lives and situations, and squeezed their need for something more, something greater, out of them. It wasn’t what I’d asked for, but it was what I’d gotten.

And I wanted more and more and more.

There wasn’t a fish or anything else organic nearby to link my MP with, so I went as Zen as I could, fiercely wishing for Meredith to appear.

Ohhmmmmm. Ohmmmm.
Was this how it worked? Perhaps it would help if I knew what Zen actually meant. So I did it the old-fashioned way. “MEREDITH! HELP!” I choked on my scream, water filling my lungs.

A bubble formed in the water, shimmery and small. I could just make out Meredith’s outline in it, mouthing something. Paddling closer, I heard her faint demand.

“Grab it!” she said.

The bubble popped in my hands. My body was sucked in, out of the water, out of Sproutville. I collided with a black hardwood floor, coughing, water splashing around me.

A green stiletto tapped below my dripping chin. “Darling, you really need to enroll in a swim class.”

I coughed again. Meredith flung a black waffle-weaved towel at me. I buried my face in it and tried to stop shaking.

“So, you rang?” She unbuttoned her white peacoat, tossed it onto her office chair, and retied the already perfect bow of her green wrap dress. Her hands settled on her hips, one foot out in her signature Meredith pose.

“I guess you could call it that.” I hugged my knees, my brown skirt clinging to my legs. “Look, I don’t know what you’ve decided but…up until the bubble incident, I was doing a good job, Meredith. And I’m really, really sorry, and you were really, really right, and I was very, very wrong. So what if you brought me back? Let me prove myself. I’ll be the impersonation queen. Well, princess. Even
you
won’t know the difference.”

Meredith retrieved another towel from the bathroom and primly kneeled to blot her waxed floor. “That’s it? I was hoping for some more begging. At least flattery.”

“Um…I like your dress?”

“Of course you do. It cost more than your entire T-shirt collection.” Meredith chucked the towel at me, and I took it as my cue to clean up the rest of the water. “Here’s the thing. From what I’ve seen, I don’t know how the princesses could possibly be happy with the stunts you’ve pulled.”

“Why wouldn’t they be? I
helped
them, Meredith. And how are they doing? I wonder if Simmy’s French horn is fixed. Or if Ama wound up with that guy. I wish I could talk to them and see what they think.”

“Well, we aren’t certain what they think at the moment, because Central Command still hasn’t cleared up the PPR issue.” She cocked her head to the side. “If your performance was really poor, though, the princesses would have probably contacted us in person. So that’s hopeful. But, since it’s you, I could also assume they’re just too busy cleaning up your disasters and haven’t had time. We’ll see.”

I stopped mopping. “All I heard was the word
hopeful
.”

“The truth is,” Meredith went on, “we’re in a wholly unique situation, and all you’ve botched on
paper
was the emergency bubble, and there’s a chance that might even stay off record. And by the way, the bubble was fixed, but I’m going to have to dock your pay from the previous gigs to cover the repairs and cover your butt.”

“Anything,” I pleaded.

“So, I have this assignment. BUT”—she closed her eyes and shook her head—“you
have
to understand this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity you don’t even deserve. Princess Elsa is technically a Level One, but there’s likelihood she’ll become a Level Three; she certainly has the pedigree. She’s leaving for a couple of days and has never had a sub before, and a princess’s first sub—if she does well—has a big advantage when the princess is auditioning for a Match. Desi, this is a big deal.”

“Wow. And you trust me with this? Thank you.”

Meredith snorted. “Trust you? This could very well be the biggest mistake of my career!”

Wounded, I hung the towels back on the rack. I needed to let her insults roll off me. Regardless of what she said, I had to be good enough or she wouldn’t be letting me do this.

Meredith was back at her desk when I came in, and we, it appeared, were back in business.

“So, as you’ve heard, Lady Carol is getting married this weekend, and every royal from here to Antarctica is invited. It’s bound to be spectacular, but half of the guest list is snatching up subs, leaving poor Level One Elsa stuck.” I knew it. “So you’re taking me back because you’re shorthanded.”

“I could put you back in that dunk—Ow!” Meredith frantically grabbed at her pocket. “Stupid zapping mail alerts.” She tossed me my manual. “Read it. And here’s your rouge.”

Swallowing my smile, I clicked on the message and applied some rouge. The princess’s picture dazzled, while the profile info underwhelmed.

Princess Elsa of the House of Holdenzastein

Age: 15

Hometown: Metzahg. Small village in the eastern Alps.

Favorite Color: Blue

Favorite Food: Anything not microwaved. And Nana Helga’s stroganoff, but only if she’s in a good mood when she makes it. Otherwise, you never know what’ll end up in there.

Favorite Book: The Princess Diaries by Meg Cabot

Family Information: My mom died over a year ago, I never met my dad, and I’m an only child. I live with Nana Helga. Princess Helga of the Imperial and Royal House of Holdenzastein, actually, but she’ll punch you if you call her that. If there were words to describe her, I would, but there aren’t. She means well. Oh, and remind her to take her heart meds!!!

Cultural Traditions: Culture? That’s a good one. My mom used to take me to concerts and lectures whenever she could, but now I’m pretty secluded from all of that. I miss it. All of it.

Anything Else We Should Know: I don’t like nuts. My hair needs to be brushed twice a day or it gets knots. I like things in order.…

Look. My life is pretty boring. Your other jobs are probably tons better. I just really need a break to clear my head.

I stared at her picture. Elsa was the kind of doe-eyed, hour- glass-shaped girl who inspired cartoonists’ princesses. How could a girl like her be so obviously depressed?

“You guys seriously have to work on these profiles! This one is shorter than Simmy’s.”

“I imagine she really is bored out of her mind. Elsa’s known as ‘the lost princess.’ The country her great-greatgrandfather ruled was broken up after the First World War. The family…” Meredith leaned toward her computer screen and read: “The House of Hol-den-
za
-stein, gets to keep their title even without a country, and there’s still plenty of family cash and castles and other royal bling. But Elsa’s eccentric grandmother withdrew from society and refuses to access any of the wealth, which is too bad because Elsa really has some potential. Elsa’s mother gave her a proper education and upbringing, despite their lack of money, before she died of cancer. But now Elsa lives with her Nana Helga in a tiny cottage in the Alps.”

“That’s dumb. Why would anyone give up being a royal?”

Meredith’s screen saver flashed on, a picture of a dark brick tunnel, with small pinprick of white in the middle. Meredith sighed. “There are valid reasons.”

“Name three.”

“Balance. Desire for privacy. And sometimes…love.” The bubble shook and Meredith looked away. “The longer you do this, Desi, the more confusing it all becomes.”

I remembered Lilith’s accidental mention of a scandal, and wondered what confusion Meredith had experienced, what tunnels she’d stumbled through in her own sub wanderings. Her stare was so blank, I doubted she was actually seeing anything in the room at the moment. Perhaps I should offer a hug. Or some psychological advice. “Meredith, look, we never really talk about stuff—”